Seven Little Confessions

When I was fourteen and got into a little trouble, my Aunt Joyce told me, “Confession is good for the soul.”   That was over forty years ago, and I’ve been surprising people with my candor ever since. Why should today be any different? 

1.      My husband brings me coffee from freshly ground beans every morning.  When he is gone overnight, I tote the programmable coffee maker into the bedroom and set it on my desk across the room, so I can wake up to the smell of coffee brewing.  I’m not lazy. I just prefer to use my energy for more important activities, like laughing and watching Monk reruns.

2.      I spoil my four cats beyond reason, talking baby talk to them and letting them climb wherever they want. They even jump on the bathroom counter and drink water from a cup there. I tell each of them that they’re my favorite one. Please don’t let the cat out of the bag and snitch on me.

3.      We lived in Illinois six years before I shoveled snow the first time, and that was only because my husband had broken his ankle.  I wanted to give him the opportunity to show off his upper body muscles, so I let him shovel the years before.

4.       I love to slide across the kitchen floor in my stocking feet. You too? I knew it!

 

 

5.      I am not fond of cooking. My favorite cookbook is one containing recipes of three, four, and five ingredients. My husband does most of the cooking at our house, which is fine with me.

6.      My favorite sport is dining out. Shopping comes a close second. My favorite items to shop for are gift cards for restaurants.

Our youngest grand--a redhead!

 

7.      My hair is not this bright red; its natural color is auburn, which went bye-bye when I was thirty-five.  My youngest granddaughter’s hair is the same shade. YES!

Ahhh . . .  that does feel better.  Aunt Joyce was right.

 

I Must Confess



I Need a Miracle!

My palms were sweating. “I’ve got to get this car to the median,” I thought, looking over my shoulder at three lanes of early morning L.A. traffic. “I need a miracle like the parting of the Red Sea.” Wait, wrong Bible story. This was December 20th. How about a miracle similar to finding a birthing manger in Bethlehem?

“Whatever—just help me get to school on time, Lord.”

It was the last day of school before Christmas vacation. My students had always been generous in past years, but I knew they’d pour on the presents today, since it was my final year teaching at the small private school my kids attended before we moved across the country.

 

Those Gifts Were Waiting

I must confess I wasn’t fretting over leaving my teens at home alone while I dashed my husband to the train station, or the expense of fixing whatever troubled our sick car. I was thinking of those beribboned boxes of stationery I’d regift at the next Missionary Mamas Christmas party; the “Best Teacher” mugs I’d drink from twice before giving them to Goodwill; and the matching sets of dish towels I’d put in a drawer to give my kids’ teachers next Christmas. The thought of missing all that loot made me want to cry.

As I put the car in neutral and opened the door to begin pushing, a pickup truck pulled up behind me, the driver motioning me to get back in so he could push me from behind. I was able to turn the corner and ease the car to a stop. I smiled as I waved my thanks to the kind driver, noticing the embroidered name on his blue uniform: CLARENCE. “Thanks, Lord,” I chuckled.

By the time I jogged the quarter mile home, more than my palms were sweating, but I didn’t have time to change clothes. Those gifts were waiting.

 

Dodging Holly Bushes

My sixteen-year-old daughter was thrilled that she got to drive us to school in her car. Her younger brother was not amused. “Mom, the last time Ruthie drove, she went the wrong way up a one-way street and nearly killed us!”

“We’ll just have to risk it, Ben. I may never have another bonanza like this again.” He sighed, and grabbed two overstuffed pillows from the couch on his way out the door. This was the dark ages, before airbags.

We made it to school in record time, with only one mishap—a scratch on the passenger side from a holly bush in a residential neighborhood. “Don’t’ worry, honey,” I crooned to Ruthie, “it’s hard to judge your speed when you’re turning corners. Those people shouldn’t have planted that bush so close to the sidewalk, anyway.”

 

 My Sharing Heart

As Ben staggered out of the back seat, still clutching his pillows, he moaned and slapped his forehead. “We forgot our lunches, Mom. You made us go in such a hurry; we left them on the kitchen table. I can’t make it ‘til 3:30 with nothing to eat!”

I put my arm around his shoulder as we walked into the building together. “Don’t worry, son. I’m counting on at least three boxes of See’s candy and two fruitcakes. I’ll share with you, okay?”

 

Although I no longer teach school, I must confess I still love to give and receive gifts. My favorite being the gift of God's Son, Jesus, who was given to us 2,000 years ago. May you experience His joy and love this Holy Season. I will be unplugged for two weeks to enjoy my kids and grandkids.

 

Many Blessings,